What woke him was the chill of icy sweat trickling down the curves of his taut back, shocking numbed nerves and racking his spine with innumerable shivers. His spine arched as his eyes flew open, mouth agape and releasing only the barest of gasps - more like a strangled wheeze than anything else. The terrible rattling that infected his chest lasted anywhere from a few heartbeats to an eternity. He couldn't be sure, but what mattered more to him was that it eventually subsided, and he no longer sounded like he'd caught the literal plague.

Sitting up, a hand curled into the fabric resting over his heart, Theo threaded a hand through his bangs, raking them over the crown of his head so that he could better see his surroundings.

Only blackness greeted him.

Darkness, great, engulfing darkness, on every side, every direction. Pressing in on him, holding him hostage. He clawed at his eyes, thinking something must be obstructing his vision, but no blindfold, no ornamental tie or swath of cloth was tied around his head. He sucked in a sharp breath.

The lights. Something must have happened to the lights. A blackout, maybe. Probably Mrs. Adams plugging in one too many high-powered lamps for her collection of reptilian "children" and blowing a fuse... that then circulated throughout the neighborhood, cutting the power for multiple homes. Including Theo's. Or maybe Uncle Lester drunk-drove into a telephone pole again, knocking down some power lines in the process.

That had to be it, it just had to.

Theo disregarded the fact that he could hear nothing that resembled the sound of emergency vehicles. He disregarded the fact that could hear nothing at all besides the harsh, grating noise of his quickened breathing, the kind that made you wonder if you were going to die because my god, you just sound awful. He did sound awful, but he most certainly wasn't going to die. What a morbid thought. Theo wondered where it came from.

With shaking hands Theo pushed away from the ground and stood. The darkness shoved against his chest like a barreling wave, nearly knocking him off his feet; he fought to steady himself, senselessly reaching out with a hand that found empty air instead of support. Theo stumbled a moment, righted himself, then wrapped his arms tight around himself, digging his chin painfully into his collarbone.

He felt... strange.

What the hell is this...? he thought, unwilling to voice the question aloud. He felt as though speaking would only prove something had stolen his voice, and he had no desire to live through this as a permanent mute.

Being a selective mute was bad enough.

But as much as he'd rather dismiss the problem, write it off as the product of frazzled nerves and a possible knock to the head, he couldn't deny the ice that webbed across his skin, seeping through muscle and vein to encase his very bones in crackling frost; nor could he deny the electric tingle that began at the base of his spine and ricocheted between each and every nerve ending until it rose the hairs lining the back of his neck.

He couldn't stay here, stay rooted to this spot. Something would happen, something had to happen. He was convinced. So he groped among the liquid shadows, feeling as though he were wading through water, outstretched fingers eager for the touch of a wall, a table, his ratty old couch that really had no business being in his modernized home - anything he could use as a reference point to figure out his position in the house.

As he moved, carefully shuffling forward so as to avoid banging unnecessarily into any protruding furniture, he tried to recall what he'd been doing prior to falling asleep. Or passing out. Had he really been injured? He blinked, a troubled frown upsetting his lips, realizing his memory of recent events began yesterday - when he'd cursed his very existence after being assigned cleaning duty on Halloween, of all days - and ended with waking up from his pseudo-coma, just moments ago. Absolutely nothing bridged the gap in between those two moments.

His heartbeat picked up suddenly, thudding against his ribcage at a breakneck pace, and he stumbled to a halt, both hands clutching at his chest now. Anxious beads of sweat dotted his brow, his half-parted lips trembled dangerously. Something was wrong, oh-so very wrong - with him, with this situation, with everything. He'd never had such a lengthy lapse in memory before, and it petrified him.

The chance of him having taken a rather hefty blow to the head seemed all the more likely, which begged another question: Was he even awake right now? Or was this all some nightmarish fever-dream (coma-dream?) he didn't possess the strength to escape from?

He swallowed thickly, dropping his arms to his sides. A blackout, a dream, it hardly seemed to matter. He was alone, scared, floundering through a never-ending dark, and the depth of his reality was the least of his worries. If this was some escapade concocted by his weary brain, then he would awaken - for real, this time - soon enough. But until then he knew he would be forced to play whatever role he'd undertaken in this dreamscape world.

And if it was a blackout, the lights would turn on eventually.

But if it was, as he was beginning to fear, a different beast entirely...

Theo lurched forward again, forcing his feet to comply with his churning thoughts. He took slow, deliberate steps, waving his arms ahead of him and only making progress when he'd decided that nothing blocked his path.

This wasn't his house. He understood that after some time, because if it were, then someone had apparently stolen every piece of furniture they owned, as well as the walls themselves. He could sense it, though just vaguely, that there was only open space around him, a vastness he couldn't begin to comprehend. Knowing that, he was just starting to question the reason behind his continued search when an ear-splitting scream cut through the sea of black, penetrating the veil of silence that fallen over him.

Long and low and so very inhuman, the wordless howl rose gooseflesh along his arms, stole the moisture from his mouth, the strength from his knees. Never in his life had heard anything so... so anguished. So agonized, so desperate.

They were screaming bloody murder.

Then silence abruptly reigned once again, before he'd even determined where the scream originated from.

Theo pressed a fist to his mouth, teeth sinking into his knuckles. His imagination? No, no he really did not think something as horrific as that could have been born from his complacent thoughts. Which made this real. It made it the whole ridiculous, terrifying experience real, and his stupid heart had no idea how to handle the injection of fear this realization plunged into it.

There was no waking up, no miracle light show. This black world was the only world he could wander through.

His teeth punctured skin; hot, viscous blood dribbled down between the arching veins lining his clenched hand, tracing a crimson path along his tensed forearm. Not that he could see it, darkness or no. He'd squeezed his eyes shut the moment the scream had run its jagged course, unable or unwilling to accept what he now knew as fact.

That's when the scream ripped through him for the second time.

Startled, but more receptive than before, Theo spun around, angling this way and that in an effort to pinpoint just where the scream was coming from. He started right, only to double back and head left a moment later. Then he stopped altogether, whipping his head back and forth, forward and back. The shriek was everywhere. How was that even possible, without any walls for it to bounce off of?

Just like before, the scream died down into throbbing silence. Theo stood there, mouth opening and closing at odd intervals, pinpricks of warmth stabbing into the backs of his eyes. Just what in the hell...

Theo drew a hand down his face, then dragged it through his knotted hair, releasing a shaking breath.

Inhale, exhale.

Inhale, exhale.

Calm down, don't start hyperventilating now. There has to be... There has to be something you can do here. If you break, someone might... Someone might already be... You could...

Theo was never great at pep talks, even more so when the recipient was himself. But he managed to steel himself with the hollow, breathless words. He tangled the fingers of both hands in his thick hair, closing his eyes for a few, rapid heartbeats. He could so something. Anything at all, just so he wasn't useless, just so the blade of grief in his chest didn't grow any sharper.

When for the third time he encountered the demonic scream, he took off blindly in reaction to his less-than-reliable gut feeling. He ran until his legs burned and his feet cried out in protest, until at last there was silence again and his thoughts pressed against his skull to the point of bursting.

He stopped, hands on his knees, ragged breaths slipping past his lips.

This was pointless.

But is it? his conscience prodded, much to his aching muscles' dismay.

Of course it was. He could run for an eternity and he might never get any closer to whatever or whoever it was that beckoned him with that damnable scream.

But if there's a chance, his conscience murmured, even if it's one in ten million... and you don't take it...

Someone would likely be dead.

The nobleness of the thought almost disgusted him. Here he was, wrapped in an unyielding nightmare that should have had him curled up in the fetal position and sobbing on the ground, and he was tempted to play the unsung hero. What could he even do, he asked himself, directing the unspoken question at his righteous conscience. What could he possibly do when he himself had no inkling as to what the hell was even going on?

Try. Give every last remnant of energy he had and throw himself into finding the source of that scream. That's what he could do. It wasn't what he wanted to do, but it was the only thing that would keep him sane just then. And he knew that perfectly well. So with a heavy sigh, he waited, eyes closed because now he realized there was no difference between the world behind his eyelids and whatever lay beyond.

The scream rang out, tortured as ever, and he followed it despite every muscle, every tendon, every atom of his being begging him to stop. And he did so countless times, chasing a phantom victim for what felt like days, inching towards an exhaustion so substantial and massive he feared when he succumbed to it he would never claw his way out of it.

On and on the game of cat-and-mouse went, never ending, and finally Theo fell to his knees, one arm slung across his stomach, palm pressed to the ground to keep him from total collapse. Raucous coughs sputtered from his lips, though they paled in comparison to the haunting wail that now seemed to be a continuous, one-noted plea. It wouldn't just end, for God's sake why wasn't it ending?

Theo beat a fist against the ground, swallowing a final cough, tears piling on his thin blond lashes. The strength fled from his arms and he doubled forward, forehead ground into the earth (or whatever he found himself lying on), hands clapped over his ears in a futile attempt to preserve his fleeting sanity.

Stop, stop, stop, stop! Just stop. Oh God, die already! If you're going to die, then freaking die! Get killed, kick the bucket, start pushing up daisies, I don't care, just stop with the screaming...!

"Well, aren't you sympathetic?"

He stiffened, sniffling, but didn't dare to raise his head.

"Theodore, was it? Theodore Anderson? I wouldn't have pegged you as morbid... But I suppose hearing your own swan song over and over does funny things to a human's head, eh?"

His own...? Human's head?

"Now, now, don't be shy. Get up, Theodore - or do you prefer Theo? You look more like a Theo, I'd say."

When he still hadn't moved, he heard a distinctly exasperated sigh, much like his own some eternity ago, then two slim hands caught him under his arms and, with surprising ease, lifted him to his feet. He blinked, staggering back a step, and met a slate-gray gaze that pierced him to the core.

Before he could properly take in the fact that he could see (that the world glowed with a soft, gray light, illuminating a barren landscape that looked as though it came directly from another planet), the girl - because it was a girl, a straightlaced-looking girl with short black hair, a regal nose, thin lips curled in a curious smile - crossed her arms, raising a dark brow. "Well?"

"W-Well...?" he croaked, licking his lips. When exactly had he last spoken?

"Haven't you got any questions?" the girl pressed, drumming her fingers on her upper arm, the other brow joining its twin near her hairline. "They - you humans, you've always got questions. 'How'd I die?', 'Where am I?', 'Who are you?'. I personally like 'What are you?'. Only the smart ones ask that. So." She dipped her chin, indicating he was free to ask anything liked. "Go on."

"No, I-I just..." Theo fumbled for the right words. He was still processing how she could have appeared from nowhere and why there was suddenly light pulsating against the oppressive black. "I guess... I died?"

She nodded, apparently unfazed by his broken voice. "I'm afraid so," she said, without sounding very sorry at all. "So young, too. Shame. You're... seventeen? And a virgin," she added with a sly smile, to which Theo flushed, nails curling into his palms. She sniffed. "You really did not get a chance to live, dear. But that's over now, so I suppose I should--"

"Wait!"

"Hm?"

His tongue was thick in his mouth, and what was worse, glued to the roof of his tongue. Forming a simple sentence had taken on all the complexity of solving a calc problem. "You... you said I... was listening to my own swan song? I don't... understand..."

Her eyes widened with a look of mild understanding. "I see. That is a strange thing to hear for non-Guardians. Alright, that scream you heard?" She paused a moment, waiting until Theo had shakily nodded his confirmation to go on. "That was you. Screaming. While you were being murdered. I'm only momentarily stopping it; once we leave, it'll just be played on a loop forever and ever, because this is your space, Theo. This is your Death Realm."

While that didn't clear up anything in particular for him, he didn't interrupt her. Instead, he silently nodded, picking out what he could understand from her words.

"Everyone has one, when they die. It's a space in the universe that proves you existed. Holds all of your memories, your thoughts, your feelings, and most importantly, your death scene. We have to put them somewhere, you know, because we can't very well leave them in your head when we throw you back down to earth for another go-around, can we? That'd be maddening, and you have precious little sanity to begin with, you humans."

He felt somewhat insulted, but couldn't be sure if it was even justifiable, given that this girl didn't seem to be putting any snark or sarcasm into her words. She said only what she believed to be true, and how could he fault he when he was keenly aware of just how close he was to his breaking point?

The girl waved a hand, inviting him closer. "We should leave," she told him, a firmness around her words that left little room for argument. "I can't imagine you're comfortable here, and it takes some time to prepare souls for reincarnation. There's a lot of" - here she looked him up and down, a certain amount of distaste coloring her aristocratic features, and he felt himself flush at the appraisal - "cleaning to be done, after all. Are you ready?"

He found the compulsory politeness unsettling, and would gladly have told her so if he didn't have the sneaking suspicion that she might abandon him to this hell if he hit the wrong nerve. And so he nodded, a short, stunted nod, fearful and weary and eager to escape this reality even if it meant losing himself in the process - only to stop short of taking her proffered hand.

"No."

"No?" she echoed, her tone clipped, betraying how tedious she thought her task to be. It stung, Theo had to admit, but her lack of compassion was to be expected, if this was her daily routine. Just like hearing one's own death rattle on repeat warps their mind, he figured that greeting tortured souls each and every day, spirits who fought her and fought themselves... it would change you in much the same way.

"No," he said again, withdrawing from her touch, wrapping himself up in two trembling arms, squeezing fingers into frozen flesh. He hadn't noticed how the temperature had dropped dramatically since the girl's appearance, but it weighed on him now, and he held back an involuntary shiver as best he could. "I... I want... to see it..."

"It...?" Her brow furrowed, creasing her forehead. "You can't mean... "

"M-My death scene..."

He could tell this was not a popular request by how still the girl went. She'd been absently tapping her foot for some time now, but the rhythmic tap-tap-tap dissipated into the all-encompassing silence he'd grown so used to before the terrible wailing. She opened her mouth, closed it without uttering a sound, pursing her lips in contemplation. He swallowed, finding his mouth uncomfortably dry, tongue once again prone to sticking to the roof of his mouth. The wait stretched on into countless heartbeats.

Finally, the girl sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose while cutting him a derisive look. "It's not pretty," she warned him, and he there was a small spark of victory in his chest that quickly waned into nothingness as she continued. "I won't show you everything - I can't, actually. It would take too long, and you're scheduled to be cleansed within the hour. But your final moments, your final breaths - I can show you that."

She strode past him, snatching his white-knuckled hand and tugging him along in her wake; he didn't protest, ducking his head, eyes on his beaten sneakers while they walked. It didn't take long, and the girl soon paused, raising an arm to bar his way; with his eyes downcast, though, he didn't notice the barricade at first and nearly pitched himself over her arm. She snorted as he righted himself, and his flush deepened.

"Theo," she said, still facing forward; he felt the muscles of her arm tense, "next time I see you - because it will be me, you're my assignment - don't ask for this."

He tried to respond, to tell her that he likely wouldn't remember this conversation so he couldn't possibly promise something like that, but the words died in his throat as the horrid sound of uneven, rapid breathing filled his ears.

There he was. In a small sphere untouched by the darkness, he lay propped up against the legs of a desk, disheveled and sprawled out in the most awkward of positions. His blond hair matted with blood, crimson flowers blooming from his chest, his abdomen, his sides. Trickling into his eyes, forcing him to squint. His palms were slick with it. Each gasping breath shook his pathetic form, more and more blood welling up from unseen wounds.

Theo choked back a sob, but the dying boy made no move to acknowledge his audience, only gazed forward with glassy, tear-blurred eyes at the willowy figure just a few feet away from him.

A bloodied knife lay forgotten under the desk Alexander Langley slumped against.

Theo could remember this, barely. It came back to him in disjointed snapshots:

The assignment. Oh how he loathed clean-up duty. And on Halloween. There'd been a party (thrown by the illustrious Shayna McDougal), his friends had ditched him, laughing as they sprinted from the classroom even as he begged them to help.

Alex. Standing sullenly in the middle of the room as he turned around, defeated. The half-smile the boy mustered up for Theo's sake, telling him he didn't bite.

The cleaning itself. Theo's awkward distance from Alex, evidence of the fact that he didn't trust him, didn't find him remotely normal enough to be within ten feet of him.

Then there was missing time, flashes of a struggle, a cry of pain - Alex again, kneeling over him, the knife that was currently embedded deeply in between two of Theo's ribs cupped in his clammy hands. Where had the knife come from? He thought it was probably from Alex's backpack, which lay tossed aside like a child's ragdoll on the floor not too far away, unzipped, its contents strewn haphazardly about the room.

He hadn't realized it quickly enough, but something inside Alex had snapped at the worst possible moment. Maybe it was the full moon, maybe it was the thought that he'd have to go home to his drunken parents in just an hour or so (their depravity was common knowledge in Willow Creek High School), maybe it was Theo's standoffishness that finally set him off. Theo didn't know, would likely never know. He only understood that Alex wasn't exactly Alex - the strange, loner boy who rarely spoke and stuffed his nose in a book even during exams - when he attacked him.

And somehow, stupidly, he couldn't hate Alex knowing that.

Maybe he was just numb, seeing as he found he didn't care about a lot of things right then, his own tragic demise included.

Just before the girl cut the scene short, he caught a glimpse of Alex, curled into himself, eyes bloodshot, tear tracks washing away the blood that stained his cheeks, staring forlornly at Theo's tattered body, which had grown still and quiet during his flashbacks. Then it was gone, and only the gray glow remained in his line of sight - besides the girl, anyway.

"...That boy's insane, I'd wager."

Theo started. Despite her being just in front of him he'd almost forgotten she was there.

"I... I figured that..." he mumbled as she spun to face him. He couldn't look her in the eye.

"He didn't have any particular grudge against you," she said, head titled to the side in muted bewilderment, like she had trouble comprehending how someone could kill another human for no apparent reason. He himself thought it was a simple enough matter when one wasn't in their right mind. "Wrong place, wrong time. You might have done something that agitated him. It's in the past now," she added, stooping a bit to look up into his face, which he'd tilted downward to avoid making awkward eye contact with her. "You'll be moving on in a bit."

That thought wasn't exactly comforting, but he clung to it nonetheless. It was the only substantial reassurance he'd encountered since being dropped into this hellish void.

"My name is Cynthia," she said, surprising him with the amicable smile gracing her pale lips. He wondered if this was compulsory as well, and surprised himself when he decided he didn't really care one way or the other. "I've been your Guardian for dozens of generations, and I'll be your Guardian until the end, Theodore - whatever you'll call yourself by then."

And somehow, just from that, the idea of starting over in a brand new skin didn't seem as frightening.

When she offered her hand again, Theo didn't hesitate to take it.